Livin' on a Prayer
by Racquet
Summary: In a world where nothing is as it seems, two friends will fight against the odds to survive. Nick/Greg Friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** The idea for this fic came to me quite a while ago, and has just been building from there and taking over most of my spare time. It's gotten to the point where my other fic is suffering (read: sucking) because this one keeps my concentration. I have the plot all written down, I basically just have to fill in the holes and post them. It's not the normal CSI fic by any means, and I generally do not care for, or write, AU stories, but I think if you give this one a try you will enjoy it.

**Obligatory Diclaimer: CSI is not mine and I make no profit off of this story...unfortunately.**

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**Livin' on a Prayer, Chapter 1. Enjoy...**

_We've got to hold on to what we've got_

_ 'Cause it doesn't make a difference If we make it or not _

_We've got to hold on ready or not _

_You live for the fight when it's all that you've got_

_Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear _

_Livin' on a prayer_

_-Bon Jovi_

_ He could hear the steps behind him gaining momentum, the sickening smack as leather soles made contact with wet cobblestones resonated off the surrounding buildings. He dared not look back, he shouldn't...couldn't...wouldn't look back. The jeers from emaciated tenants leaning out of the safety of their windows, taunting Greg with their freedom, informed him of his losing battle._

_"They're gaining on you boy, you'd better hurry!" An old woman, frazzled hairs whipping in the wind, growled as he ran past._

_He tried to push harder, pump his legs faster, anything to keep some distance between himself and his pursuer. He would swear, right hand on the Bible (not that it counted for much now), that he could feel the hot breath down his back, and his legs weren't going to take him much further. And then he is flying, and for a second he thought that maybe this was what it felt like, this is what it feels like to die. The mirage, however, is cut short by the painful slap of his worn hands on the hard ground as he manages to catch himself, saving his face from certain unauthorized reassignment. The force of being hit from behind oppresses any hopes he held in coming out of this adventure unscathed as his cheek met ruthlessly with the stone, sending blinding pain resonating through his skull. Humorlessly he thinks that if this had been a program on his beloved Sunday morning cartoons, little yellow birdies would be spinning cheekily over his head. _

_Raising his head slowly he is faced with the soles of leather boots, the same boots that had been chasing him moments ago. Eyes wide, Greg slowly pushed his protesting knees underneath him, praying they will hold as he rises to take in the sight that lays before him. Frozen and gaping, he holds the position for what seemed like hours, unsure of his body and the myriad of potential moves coursing through his brain. The sudden hand grasping his shoulder forces a shriek from his lips, followed closely by a heaving sob. All of his efforts, his pain, his planning had been for naught. His run was over and he now he would pay for what he had done. Supposedly done, he reminds himself hastily. With baited breath he waits for the last blow, face overcome with a look of utter shock and confusion as strong arms lift him to his feet, urging him to run once more. _

_Turning, he catches only the back of the person who had come to his aid. His breath hitches, catching in his throat. He knows that back, the name slips breathlessly though his chapped lips..._

_"Nick"_

_Legs wobbling unsteadily he stumbles forward, pushing against the exhaustion that threatens to overtake him. He wasn't ready to lose the only person he could trust in this world, not again. Not for anything. Breaking into a stumbling lope he turns the corner just to see the figure disappear around another turn. Not again, not now. Not again, not now. The words became a mantra in his mind, a reminder of what could happen if he was caught, what _would_ happen if he was caught. Pulling strength from these words he throws his body forward, adrenaline pushing him as he rounds the next turn, catching sight of a seemingly simple wooden door. Stepping inside he pulls the small door tightly shut, searching for a lock and coming up empty he looks forward, emitting a groan of defeat at the stairs that face him. Driven purely by the hope that his friend lay waiting at the top, he lifts a heavy foot onto the first stair. _

_"Easy does it." he reassures himself softly. "Just one step at a time"_

_And with those sound words of advice he begins to climb, the metal stairs giving off a faint ringing sound as his bare feet push against them. Reaching the first landing, Greg collapses against the iron railing, gasping desperately for air and pulling it painfully into his lungs. Not trusting himself to have the ability to pick himself up off the floor, he settles for leaning heavily on the railing, telling himself it is just for a bit. Bits however, become minutes, and he soon accepts that he will not be finishing this marathon anytime soon. And then he hears it, like the angels of his childhood books...well, not quite, but nonetheless he hears it._

_"Greg!" _

_The hushed voice floats down from the rafters high above, and it is all he can do to lift his heavy head towards the sound._

_"C'mon Greg, we have to keep moving!"_

_And for a split second Greg can see him, leaning dangerously over the railing, arm outstretched, motioning for Greg to hurry. They haven't got much time. And then he is gone, again._

_With renewed strength he is able to push himself from the railing, surging towards the stairs, not even bothering to stand up straight as he climbs them on all fours. Legs and arms pumping he can hear his friend just ahead, climbing the stairs just as he himself is climbing them, they are in this together. Passing another landing he doesn't even take time to stop and rest, a smile spreads across his face as he catches a glimpse of Nick's shoes as he turns to start up the next flight. He's catching up!_

_And just as the thought passes through his mind, a wicked groan causes Greg to pause. Whipping his head forcefully towards the sound he pushes himself onto two feet to peer over the banister. A small sound from the back of his throat bounds down the stairwell, just as Nick's had only moments ago, and like Nick's words this sound seeped into the ears of the person standing at the bottom of the stairs. The man in the leather boots. With a burst of adrenaline pumping through his veins Greg began to climb once more, two steps at a time now. Nick would protect him, he just had to make it to the top and everything would be okay. The sound of leather meeting metal as the man races up the stairs behind him sends chills down Greg's spine as he fights to stay ahead. _

_And then he's there. At the top, facing another door. Twisting the knob viciously he throws himself against it and it opens easily, he stumbles through. The breath leaves his lungs for a split second, because Nick's there, standing in front of him and his legs are numb and he can't breath but it's okay because Nick is there and he is safe. A weakened sob escapes his lips as he struggles forward, reaching for his friend, but Nick remains still, smiling. And as he drags himself forward the smile on Nick's face morphs, transforming itself into a tight smirk and it frightens him but he can't stop the forward motion of his body. Reaching Nick he grasps for the fabric of his shirt and clings to it like it's the last life preserver on a sinking ship as the door behind him is slammed open again and the man in the leather boots steps through. _

_"Nick. Nicky, please help me!" he gasped, eyes wide and panicked._

_And finally, Nick moves. Raising his arms to place a strong hand on each side of Greg's face, he pulls them together._

_"End of the line, Greggo," he whispers menacingly, pushing the younger man away. _

_The words cut through Greg like a knife as he stumbles backwards, mouth gaping, opening and closing like a fish stranded on the end of a hook, gasping for air._

_"No, no, no..." the words grow from whispers to screams as the ice cold grip of the booted man clamps down on his arms and he is being pulled away from Nick and into the darkness of the stairwell..._

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"Greg, Greg wake up. C'mon Greg, wake up." the frantic words invaded his brain, as though someone was calling out for him underwater, trying to break into his thoughts with an icepick. His world bucked and swayed mercilessly as he fought to open his heavy lids, held closed as though covered in cement. And as the words begin to right themselves and the distance between dream and reality lessen, the grip of Nick's strong hands around his arms allows them to clash once more as he fights against the binding fingers of his captor.

_No, no, no..._

With one last forceful shake, the ties are broken and Greg's eyelids fly open, distraught and filled with fear his heart beats painfully against his chest, leaving him gasping for air. Weezing from the effort he turns to realize that he's got a death grip on Nick's shirt, knuckles white and aching. Nick's hands gently aid him in releasing the grip after how own attempts fall short, a mild blush rising to his cheeks, embarrased by his lack of bodily control.

"Hey man, you alright?" Nick's voice is low, worried. "I wasn't gonna wake you, but the horses...they were freaking out a bit." He chuckles nervously, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to where the horses were tied for the night.

"Yea...sorry. 'M fine." he forced a small smile, breaths still coming in heavy gasps. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"Nah, it's fine man."

He nods easily, the silense between them awkward and uncomfortable.

"Then I'm just gonna try and get some more shut-eye before we have to get moving again..."

Nodding, Greg turns away from his friend, pulling the cover of the sleeping bag across his body and curling into it, eyes closed. Still, he can sense Nick's eyes on his back, wondering if he is okay and how much longer these nightmares will last. He knew his friend was scared for him, but attempts to get him to talk about the dreams had been shut down quickly, he didn't want to drag Nick into his problems, but that plan was obviously flawed as the dreams became increasingly violent and frightening, so did Greg's responses. The shuffling behind him let Greg know that Nick was laying back down and would soon be fast asleep. But as Greg squeezed his eyes against the prickling of tears, he knew that sleep would not be coming for him tonight.

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Confused? That's good :) Don't worry, it will be better explained in the next chaper :D

Please, R&R...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Wow. I didn't mean to write this much and I only got down half of what I wanted to say. Due to this, you won't be learning a whole lot of their current situation in this chapter, but you will in the next two chapters. Sorry. Note to self: shorter flashbacks! Also, I plan on updating this every Wednesday and Saturday.

**Obligatory Disclaimer: Not mine.**

Anywho, I now present to you...

Livin' on a Prayer, Chapter 2.

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As the first rays of light passed through the trees, Greg groaned before pulling himself up into a sitting position. No point in waking Nick when he could start now and have everything around before it was time for them to get moving. Besides, he'd kept his friend up enough through the last few weeks, no reason to add any more to the man's sleep deprivation if he could help it. Leaning forward he ground the palms of his newly calloused hands against his eyes. Damn it, it wasn't even light out and he already had a headache. If this was any indication of how his day was going to pan out, he might as well just lay back down and refuse to get up for the rest of forever. He was just so...tired, all the time. He was wearing thin, he could feel it and it worried him.

A swift thwacking sound brought Greg's thoughts back to the present. With another groan he turned towards Nick's sleeping bag.

"Quit it Hank!" he whispered angrily, staring daggers at the fawn Boxer who lay curled up at Nick's feet. His threats fell flat as he was met by louder thwacking as the dog's tail increased in speed, whole body quivering with excitement. He caved, hoping the rustling wouldn't wake Nick. "Okay, fine! Let's go pee."

Stretching out tight calves and flexing aching knees, Greg followed his Boss's (ex-Boss's?) dog away from the quiet camp and towards the line of trees sitting just a short distance away. They'd been lucky last night, finding a place to bed down for the night usually took quite a while, and even then it was a fat chance that you would actually feed secure staying there. Their current position made him feel just that though, safe. A feeling that was quite distant these days, and Greg knew he'd be loath to leave it later in the morning, though convincing Nick to stay another night would be neigh near impossible. When that man decided to get something done, nothing seemed to stand in his way, though that could probably be viewed as a plus considering the precious cargo they carried. Precious to whom, neither of them could be quite sure.

Zipping up, nature having finished her call, Greg snatched a stick off the forest floor and chucked it back in the direction of camp, smiling at the predictable sound of Hank crashing through the underbrush to reach it. He'd never been much of a dog person, never having had one as a kid and spending most of his time in Vegas working, but he didn't mind having Hank around much and the dog's happiness throughout their bleak condition didn't hurt either. Plus, he'd saved their tails more then once. Greg's mood fell with the memories that the thought conjured up.

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_Nick hacked, throat clogging from the thick film of dust the door had kicked up when it swung open. It never ceased to amaze Greg, the amount of dust that could accumulate in a mere matter of weeks when everything was left untouched. They made their way carefully to the kitchen, keeping Hank close and out of trouble with a leash they carried with them. Nick was adamant about respecting the belongings of the dead and only taking what they absolutely needed. Greg doubted they cared. Their routine was simple and practiced, searching a house took them less than 10 minutes by this time, the less they were out in the open and able to be cornered, the better. The kitchen was always the first stop, looking for any canned foods and bottled water, everything else was rotten and useless by this point. If they were desperate for food a search of the cellar would come next, though both men preferred searching multiple houses before entering a cellar. Many people had locked themselves in their basements at the start of the attacks and they remained little more then rotting corpses now. Luckily they had found some canned beans, not the most appetizing food to eat after over two months on the road, but it had more calories then fruit or vegetables, and at least they wouldn't have to go into the basement._

_Moving upstairs they would search the bedrooms, focusing on the closets for new clothes, socks and hats. No luck today though as the person who lived here, used to live here, wore a size too large to be useful to either of them. Last stop was always the bathroom and usually where they had the most luck. They could plow through a good sized bottle of sunscreen in a week and toothpaste and deodorant kept life bearable. Today's search turned up a bar of unopened soap and a pack of disposable razors, nice and pink. Loading the new supplies into the already bursting packs they each carried was an exercise in both technique and luck. It was decided early on that Greg would carry the toiletries and Nick would carry the foodstuff, both because he was stronger and was less likely to take a spill while they were riding, though Greg didn't like to admit it._

_The growl was unexpected and they both jumped. Greg let out a string of low curses, berating the dog as he turned back to finish loading his pack. Snickering, Nick headed towards the window and pulled back the dusty curtain, expecting to see a rabbit or a cat, the usual recipients of the dog's focus. He was wrong._

_"Greg." the way Nick said his name chilled Greg to the bone. He turned quickly to stare at his friend, who's eyes were wide, panicked and formulating. After a moment, he spoke again, voice tight. "Take Hank and hide."_

_"Wh..." he would swear that he could feel the stone cold fear coming off his friend in waves._

_"Just do it Greg" His eyes broke from the window then as he covered the small kitchen in 3 large steps, shoving the leather leash painfully into Greg's hand. "And stay quiet."_

_With a tight grip on the leash he watched Nick pick up both heavy packs with ease and head towards the back of the house, adrenaline was flowing. The actions of his friend scared him, he wasn't used to being left in the dark and not being told the plan was making his heart beat harder in his chest and droplets of sweat form on his brow. Another low growl from Hank set him into motion, heading quickly for the stairs, dragging the dog reluctantly behind him. He could still hear Nick downstairs moving about and hoped he would have enough time to implement whatever plan he had thought up, and most of all he hoped he would stay safe, he was fully aware that he would not be able to continue for long on his own. Rounding the top of the stairs he moved swiftly into the master bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him before heading into the closet. The closet was deep and the lack of windows made it pitch black when the light wasn't on, something Greg planned on taking full advantage of as he pulled a box away from the wall to stand on as he unscrewed the light bulb, hissing at the blisters that began to rise on the pads of his fingers. Cursing softly he stuck the singed fingers in his mouth, sucking on them in an attempt at relief._

_And then he heard it. The door being forced open, heavy boots moving across the hardwood floor, muffled voices. The hair on the back of Greg's neck stood on end as he fumbled to move further back into the packed closet, pulling Hank with him. He could hear muffled noises on the stairs now. His mind froze, he needed to hurry. Abandoning any hope of reaching the farthest corner of the closet he forced himself sideways, under the little protection offered by the hanging jackets. Breathing heavily he swung his legs up against the wall, pulling Hank to face him, forcing the dog to sit between his legs. He could feel the dog tense up as doors were opened, somebody was on the second floor now. Pushing himself tighter against the wall he wrapped his hands around Hank's muzzle in case he had any ideas of making noise, he winced as the prickly muzzle hairs dug into his blistered fingers. And they waited._

_The time seemed to move torturously slow, though in reality it was probably just a few minutes, as he listened to the sounds of heavy objects being overturned and broken, doors opening and closing and the muffled sound of shoes on carpet. The pressure of Hank shifting to sit on his feet stressed Greg and he moved into a crouched position, a move that would ultimately save his life. Eventually he heard the door to the master bedroom open and he listened breathlessly as drawers were opened and closed, the sound of wood breaking drifted through the closed door. Greg's breath caught in his chest as a black shadow broke up the white light that seeped under the door. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back as the handle rotated and the door was pressed open._

_The comfortable sound of warm leather met his ears as the shadow in the doorway moved into the closet. So far, so good, he hadn't seemed to notice the quivering pair and it would only get darker and more obscure as he moved deeper. Obscene curses filled the air as the figure stumbled into an object in the pathway, no doubt the box that Greg had used to reach the light bulb with. Unfortunately, the man's voice triggered something in Hank and he let out a menacing growl despite the hands closed around his mouth. The figure stopped, dead silence filled the closet and Greg heard the sounds of shoes climbing the stairs once more. Nick. Moving on pure adrenaline he used the little light available from the door to judge the distance and then made his move. Using every ounce of strength he could muster Greg kicked out at the man's knee, a move he'd been taught in self-defense class, a move that would've worked had he not misjudged the height and landed the kick on the man's thigh, a bone too thick to break. Shit, too late to back out now. Before the booted man could even react Greg had launched himself, their bodies clashing together as they went down._

_He had no clue what he was doing, he'd managed to make it through school without ever being involved in a fight, hell he'd never been in a fistfight before at all. The other man, who was obviously much stronger and fight savvy, gained the upper hand easily, flipping the slim man onto his back and straddling him before using Greg's face as a punching bag. He didn't know how long they'd stayed that way, blows raining down on him, before the weight on his chest was lifted and scuffling noises filled the air, barely registerable over the incessant barking. He tried to sit up, see what was going on, but the light of the door started tilting and spinning and he lay back down, he'd just take a little nap. That plan was soon abandoned as strong hands closed around his wrists, dragging him roughly from the closet._

_"C'mon Greg we have to get moving." the voice was desperate, worried. Greg had other plans, groaning he tried to pull away, go back to sleep. "No buddy, you can't sleep now, you might have a concussion. Besides, we have to get going."_

_He was pissed, head throbbing and nauseous, the last thing he wanted to do was get up and move. And then his world was tilting again as Nick's arms looped under his armpits and he was dragged to his feet. With Nick's arm wrapped tightly around his waist the two were able to make it out of the house, Hank trailing behind, leash dragging through the dust that lay disturbed on the floor as the sun fell in the horizon. He didn't remember much about that night, only that they'd rode hard and fast, Nick glancing persisterntly at Greg with worried eyes, not stopping until the sun was high in the sky the next day, desperate to put as much distance as possible between themselves and that house._

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Back at camp Greg pulled two canvas feedbags from the leather saddlebags, filling them with grain before heading towards the trees where the horses were tied per Nick's rule. Take care of the horses first, then themselves. Fitting the straps over the heads of their mounts he made quick work of running the curry comb through their glossy coats as they munched contentedly. At least Zorro didn't try and take my head off today, Greg thought, smirking at Nick's black gelding who, in Greg's opinion, needed a major attitude adjustment. With a final shoulder scratch to his own placid buckskin Reno, Greg headed back towards camp once again.

"Wakey wakey eggs 'n bakey." Greg sing-songed, rooting through Nick's pack for breakfast.

"Yea, I wish." Nick responded, mid yawn. Stretching, he sat up, turning towards Greg. "So, what've we got?"

"Peaches aaaand peaches. Or...we could have peaches." he smirked. "What'll it be?"

"Tough choice." he smiled, chuckling. "I guess I'll go with peaches."

"Wow, dream big!" Greg exclaimed sarcastically, tossing the can to his friend, followed closely by the ancient can-opener they carried.

Settling in by his friend, each gripping a can of peaches, the two settled easily into the silence. Greg loved mornings like these, one of the few times he enjoyed himself these days, when the grass was thick with dew and the birds called from the trees. He hoped as long as they lived, that at least he not lose these moments amid the destruction and despair of the new world, though it wouldn't surprise him. Nothing could surprise him at this point.

"Hey Nick..." his thoughts had turned back to that house from so many weeks ago.

"Yea man?" he responded around a mouthful of peaches.

He sat down his can, appetite having left. "Those guys in the house, you ever think about what happened to them?"

Nick stopped chewing, swallowing hard. The ease of the silence gone.

"No." his tone was resolute, end of conversation.

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FYI: In real life William Peterson has a boxer named Brutus. Brutus has made guest appearances on CSI as Grissom's dog named Hank. And yes, Brutus/Hank does have a tail in real life. ;) I did my research.

Thanks for reading,

racquet


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